


from a certain point of view

by setosdarkness, thefinalcross (setosdarkness)



Category: Free!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setosdarkness/pseuds/setosdarkness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/setosdarkness/pseuds/thefinalcross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's content to be in the shadows. He's satisfied to cheer from the sidelines. He's happy to just watch him. He's mine – and it doesn't matter if he knows it or not.</p>
<p>:: RinHaru, HaruRin, Sharkbait BL :: creepy stalker yandere fic that's probably not what you're expecting :: Rated for citrus action and dark themes ::</p>
            </blockquote>





	from a certain point of view

**Content** : I have this strange obsession with turning characters into Yandere / Yangire mode. I hope you can enjoy this fic despite the rather disturbing theme? Also, I tried to make this disjointed and choppy so that there's better atmosphere, so to speak.  
 **Crosspost** : The first half has already been posted to my tumblr before;;;; also posted on and AO3 :D

Feedback, reviews, comments, suggestions and violent reactions are all welcome :D

•••

He meets him on a Monday – summer vacation – 11:30, nearing lunchtime – surrounded by people who don't matter at all.

It's just after their recreational swimming – there's plenty of water still and it makes everything slick and slippery – but it's not slippery enough to let him out of his grasp. There's maybe two meters separating them – but it doesn't bother him. There's no point rushing in to close the gap – if they're really meant to be, everything is bound to fall into place without an onslaught of artificial interference.

He formally meets him that day but he doesn't tell anyone about how he has already heard of the other approximately six times beforehand. Only approximate, because he's not quite sure if the last one counts – there's one girl with vaguely shoulder-length hair that squeals about some pretty boy – _he_ thinks she's referring to him because there's nobody else approaching pretty in the vicinity, but _he_ also knows that people have strange tastes and defective eyes most of the time.

He talks to him about swimming and about everything else but the truth – even though all that's actually running through his mind is that _he's mine_. He doesn't tell him that – not only because that kind of knowledge ruins things – but also because it doesn't matter.

He will be content with how the other allows them to have lunch together to presumably get to know each other better because they're friends now. He will be content to simply watch the other move with fluid grace in and out of the water. He will be content to know that _he's mine_ even if he doesn't know it.

_"I only swim free." Nanase Haruka tells the world, but that's only because nobody can actually see the chains wrapped around him._

•

Australia.

He's not even there yet but he already feels an irrational hatred for that country. He doesn't need to know each and every one of them personally for him to feel this immense anger. He isn't interested in knowing more about their culture and history, because all he can think of is how much that country is robbing him of everything.

They will be apart and while there are valid reasons for that move and while there is technology available to still connect them – it's still not the same.

He doesn't say much though.

He waits until he responds.

He watches.

_"I'll show you something you've never seen before!" Matsuoka Rin promises cheerfully and daringly, but that's only because nobody can actually see the rest of the feelings threaded underneath the shadows of the cherry blossom tree._

•

Winning should mean something to him – this victory should – but he's just thinking of a whole lot other things that he can't find the enthusiasm about their team easily dominating the competition. He thinks of Australia and if he already packed everything and if he will become sick from the airplane ride and if he will improve quickly there and if he will become lonely.

Even the trophy is meaningless to him right now.

But it's a great idea to use it as a marker of their childhood, as an additional incentive for him to return, as proof of their happy days together. He's only thinking of the happiness as measured by the two of them, but it's not like he can ask Nagisa and Makoto to scamper off at this point. It's not worth it, because he's going to Australia and they're the ones left with him.

The buried trophy is a sign that he will return.

He will.

_"How romantic, right?" Nanase Haruka averts his eyes and turns his head to the side, because he can't bear to see his friend go._

•

He returns on a Tuesday – second day of school – temperature: too cold for swimming, too warm for simple baths – about seven at night – and there are still people who don't matter at all.

He just ate but seeing the other claws at his stomach. It's a different type of hunger – some vile thing that's reminiscent of monsters that hide inside closets of unsuspecting victims – and the churning doesn't go away and it probably never has since the day they met.

It's not the first time they've encountered each other since _Australia_ happened, but nobody else needs to know. There's another strange sensation and he realizes that his _thirsty_ but it's a different type of thirst as well – something that can't be soothed by diving to a pool and getting swallowed into oblivion.

He licks his lips imperceptibly and keeps his eyes trained on him.

He doesn't notice and he isn't tempted to repeat the motion – only more obscenely – because he knows that the other only has one thing in his mind. He probably wouldn't even notice if he started drooling all over the toned body that's poorly hidden by those clothes.

But it doesn't matter.

_"Let's race, Haru." Matsuoka Rin challenges his friend and doesn't look back, confident in the knowledge that he will follow._

•

…They talk on a Wednesday, a week after the district tournaments – in the middle of Haru's living room that's usually filled by other people recently – just after lunch.

"Do you hate me?" He asks – because they have talked about everything else that they can talk about – Rin's father – Rin's time in Australia – Rin's dreams and goals – Rin's swimming – Rin's freestyle – Rin's future plans.

"W-W-What?" Rin looks aghast but also quite defensive – because there's a reason why Haruka asked that question. It takes a few minutes, but Rin does reply, a bit strangled. "…No. I could never hate you, Haru."

It doesn't take as long as Rin's reply, but there's an odd pause there.

"…Really?" And for possibly the first time ever, Haru smiles widely, like a young boy that can't contain his happiness, and it looks a bit off, but it's fine, really. "I'm very glad to hear that, Rin."

•

…On all times:

He's mine.

Even if he doesn't know it.

•••

**from a certain point of view** ;  
 _you're mine even if you don't know it yet_ —

•••

There are voices inside his head.

No – it's not like the cliché of being possessed by vengeful ghosts that want to investigate their unfair deaths – it's not like the mental disease that molds certain scenarios and people inside an intricate fantasy world that just can't be perceived by anyone – and it's certainly not like the excuses that caught killers spout about hearing whispers of outsiders influencing their actions that slaughter and scatter carnage like annoying confetti.

The voices don't have any particular meaning – there's a cacophony of sounds – sometimes they weep – other times they scream – most often they whisper. There aren't any words or phrases that can mean anything worthwhile. It's almost annoying but it's been that way ever since he was born so it's not like he's ever had the luxury of knowing what it was like to experience silence in the privacy of his thoughts.

He's always been accompanied by the unintelligible mutterings that arise from deep within his psyche. It only takes him a couple of months to fully realize that not everybody has ever had the pleasure of entertaining a thousand simultaneous customers keen on vying for his attention. It takes him two more years to completely comprehend that the society he treads upon isn't really interested in his deepest, darkest thoughts.

That's just fine, because it's not like he can copy anything that the voices say, because they just blubber incomprehensively in the background of his every action. He adopts brief snatches of conversation and even manages to fit in normally – or as normally as one can when there's years' worth of burdensome noise that grow wild on uncomfortable intervals. He even manages to earn two people he can label as friends – two beings that are nearly on par with his family when it comes to being elevated from the rest of people that don't matter.

They bond over a neighborhood association sports festival – rather, their families bond over barbeque and loud gossip – and he mostly keeps to himself even then.

A couple of weeks upon their meeting and he realizes that water swallowing him whole reduces the noise level inside his brain by almost half. It's still there – it's always been there – but it's almost enough of a relief that it elicits a small smile from his lips upon his discovery. He starts loving swimming and any bodies of water – because now he's had the luxury of knowing what it was like to experience an improvement in the noise pollution.

It's hardly a permanent solution, of course.

There are still some days that he contemplates whether it might be worth experimenting with disabling his senses – after all, if the press of water on his eardrums is enough to put an unstable lid over the voices, there's bound to be something he can do to increase that water pressure – maybe replace it with something else, something longer-lasting.

Just when he's about to try cutting up some earplugs and sticking them inside his ears – maybe right after the swimming trip that their families planned – and it happens.

The voices disappear – for one solid minute – Monday – summer vacation – between 11:30 and 11:31 – surrounded by people who don't matter at all and water that splash all around the indoor swimming pool.

He makes an effort to split his attention – because the _boy_ in front of him is intriguing enough to overshadow everyone else he's ever met – because it's _weird_ that the voices are silent now, for the first time since he's born.

There's invitation to relays and there's declarations of being free – but everything else pass by in splinters of high-speed races in the highways of his thoughts – and the voices are almost painfully silent for two more minutes and three more seconds.

Everything roars back like a starved beast suddenly given free rein to chase down its prey.

He stares at the _boy_ that he meets – now 11:35 – Monday – summer vacation – and there's only two of them in this world.

After a lifetime of unintelligible gibberish, the voices are now united and their meaning is crystal-clear.

There are voices inside his head.

They now simply chant just one word.

MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE— MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—MINE—...

The fact that there are smiles and touches between them so early in their acquaintance also serves the fuel the voices inside his head.

He decides that the other boy belongs to him.

…And that it doesn't matter if the other boy knows it or not.

•

He panics for a moment when he realizes that he severely underestimated the voices in his head.

While the favorite word hasn't changed at all, the noises in his head apparently adapted to his changing situation and are now capable of chanting a multitude of other things – mostly the other's name and the various things he'd like to do to the unblemished, unmarked skin that he sees on a regular basis. Recently, there's also a strange insurgence of disturbing thoughts of what he'd like to do to others who surround them and suffocate the world that's only just for them.

He only wants him because he's mine.

But it seems that he's growing to want the other for other reasons.

And the voices don't stop.

Unlike before when everything was blissfully incomprehensible – now he can understand each word and syllable perfectly – even if a thousand different things scream at him all at once.

He wonders if this newfound resistance against an impending migraine is because of their closeness – clothed shoulders bumping – 3:10 in the afternoon – the sun's heated glare a moot point inside the safety of the ice cream parlor tucked in one corner of the mall – black sesame flavor unappealing at first but now bearable – no mackerel in sight but his stomach not vomiting its contents – their cool fingers brushing every so often – the chatter of their companions easily ignored in favor of focusing on finishing the ice cream so he can finally focus on him again – their elbows gliding against each other – and he silently leans closer when he joins in the conversation with a few lines of his own.

"It's cute, right?"

And there's the cutest thing right in front of him – 3:14 in the afternoon – Friday – sun hot outside and even inside his chest – and he doesn't disrupt routine.

"…Hmm," he hums noncommittally as he turns his head away from the assault on his heart.

But he leans his entire body even closer.

And the voices don't stop.

But it's okay.

•

He hears a group of girls giggle uncontrollably as they flock like unwanted pests – five minutes until homeroom – but being late hasn't stopped anybody from shameless flirting – but it almost snaps something within him when he hears something else aside from the constant stream of voices in his head.

"So, hey, you know, not that we're interested or anything, I'm just, curious, like, you know?"

He's half-tempted to act upon one of the suggested phrases that pop up in his mind, since the _tsundere_ act is only as cute as a half-mauled mouse. It's terribly fake and it's frighteningly easy how guys eat up the delusion that some human being is tripping over her words as she gathers the courage to invite him to some mating dance of uncontrollable hormones.

"…what kind of girl do you like?"

The voices in his head don't quite down, but the entire class does. There's only two more minutes until homeroom and everybody is already present – the guys are glaring in envy and are trying too hard to appear nonchalant as they wait for the class heartthrob's answer – the girls are less subtle as they eagerly angle themselves towards the commotion, ears ready to pick up the minutest of sounds.

He's content to be in the shadows – he's not exactly in the dark at the moment though. He's satisfied to cheer from the sidelines – he's not exactly the cheering sort though, and he's rarely in the sidelines since they operate side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip. He's just happy to watch him – he's not exactly understanding the situation because he doesn't think there's a sudden rush in puberty now for the rest of the world, so he doesn't understand why they are only asking him now when he's always been beautiful and perfect.

"…The normal kind, I guess?"

The voices in his head are as raucous as ever, but his heart stops for five full seconds before resuming its function. He feels dizzy – tries to convince himself that there's deeper meaning behind the hesitation in his answer – tries to persuade himself that there's no further meaning behind the answer itself.

"Oh, hey, Haru! What took you so long?"

…Tries to assure himself that the answer is forced and senseless and doesn't hold any weight whatsoever in the grand scheme of things.

The voice in his head sings in agony.

He can't wait to be normal.

•

Suppressing the noise inside his head aside, staying underwater fascinates him to a certain extent. There's something to be said about letting the water envelop you and letting a force larger than your own direct all of your movements. People look at him and fondly shake their heads while thinking of how strange and independent he is, but there's something fulfilling about just getting dominated and consumed by someone much brighter.

He supposes that he _is_ talented when it comes to swimming.

It takes a couple of years of hearing the same old compliments and same old passive-aggressive invitations about him joining swimming tournaments, but it's only one well-timed whim about wanting to swim on a relay that piques his attention. But then again, since the whim came from him, there's not much surprise about him actually giving in without much fuss.

He dislikes taking on responsibility – especially when it could be shouldered on to someone else – but he actually wants to offer his commitment this time. He actually wants to stay underwater for some other reason than escaping the noise inside his mind. He actually wants to swim faster than anyone else instead of just calmly letting the water embrace him. He actually wants to _win_ for some other reason aside from because there's nothing else to do.

He smells the strong scent of chlorine on the other's hair without much effort – not only because the odor is quite distinctive, but also because he is terribly close to him as always – and he realizes that he's getting addicted to this. To the warm body pressed close against him, to the sparkle of water droplets on the other's skin, to the smell of competition that's brimming all around.

He starts to crave for that same presence – and he begins to gain confidence in himself to agree to the other's excited suggestions about sneaking out at random times to race at random pools and beaches.

He stays longer underwater and his talent only blooms even more. He doesn't really care for that – he loves swimming for only two reasons and both of them are for him, in the end.

He notices the odd, longing stares that saturate his entire body every time they go for a swim, but it's hard to feel disturbed by the passion behind those glares.

He's almost completely at peace with the fact that they will not end up together like that, but it's hard to feel that way when they are together like this.

•

He's in Australia now.

Days pass by in a blur and weeks melt into months without much ado.

Seasons change and he doesn't notice.

His life crawls at a snail's pace but it's fine since he doesn't feel alive anyway.

The noises in his head are much more boisterous compared to the time before Australia happened, but there's nothing in his life now so his tolerance for the merciless screams and pitiful whimpers has reached an all-time high.

His talent is the reason he's in Australia now.

There's something that feels like grief and regret – forming a black hole deep inside his gut – as he goes through the motions of attending school and doing the morning greetings and participating in school activities – as he thinks of him being in Australia and there being oceans literally separating the two of them.

But then his cellphone rings and the number is both unfamiliar and unexpected.

But he knows who it is before he even picks up.

"Let's race when I get back on New Year's?"

His talent is the reason he's in Australia now, but maybe his talent can drag him back this time.

"…Okay."

•

Everything isn't okay.

He's in Japan now but it's actually even worse.

He's torn between the ball of hurt that's thick in the middle of his throat and the twinge of curiosity that's wild in the middle of his thoughts.

His talent is the reason why he's crying such heartbreaking tears right now.

His talent is also the reason why he's crying such beautiful tears of desperation and disappointment right now.

He's torn between wanting to apologize for hurting his very precious feelings and wanting to shake the other's shoulders to tell him that there's no point going back to Australia if the results are like this anyway.

His talent is the reason why the other even acknowledged him in the first place.

His talent is also the reason why the two of them are drifting further apart despite the closeness that once glued them together.

He's torn between wanting to let the other go to test how strong their bond really is and needing to force the other to stay here because life just isn't worth living if they're not together every single moment of the day.

Everything isn't okay.

•

He's in Australia again.

He doesn't call him anymore.

He doesn't return his messages anymore.

He doesn't consider the two of them friends anymore.

He's in Australia again even though he's mine.

•

He remembers the scent of chlorine at odd times – sometimes in the middle of the night, oftentimes while he's somewhere out with other people who don't really matter.

He begins to crave that same presence – the pungent odor that almost stings his nose – the cool embrace that lulls him to a sense of vague completeness – the warm memory that drowns him in an overwhelming heartbreak.

He can't stand the thought of going near indoor swimming pools anymore – because the one time he did that after he left for Australia again, he ended up sporting an erection that wouldn't go away even after thirty minutes of fisting and thirty more minutes of cold shower and even colder tears. He ends up remembering him and the voices in his head yell at him for letting go of the one person that's his and he ends up recalling the sight of those tears spilling down on soft cheeks and he groans at the sheer strength of his emotions that are spinning out of control.

He ends up submerging himself inside his bathtub – and when that proves effective, he ends up seeking all the other places that can offer him the comfort of drowning while surrounded by his memories and that presence.

He's in Australia still.

•

He's back in Japan now.

He's very different but he's still very much the same – like he metamorphosed to a butterfly while remaining the exact same worm from before.

There's something beautifully ugly and despicably attractive about the other's look and aura now.

Scarlet eyes sparkle like luminescent blood – as though all of his tears have all pooled into blood and he's bleeding all of his frustration through those eyes. Crimson hair glitters like resplendent rubies – as though each strand is infused by a string of those gemstones that strive to make him both impressive and untouchable at once.

And for the first time – in what seems like an eternity – he feels alive again.

•

He's back in Japan now.

And nothing else matters.

•

"…Do you hate me?"

"W-W-What?"

"…"

"…No. I could never hate you, Haru."

"…Really? …I'm very glad to hear that, Rin."

•

He's content to be in the shadows.

He's satisfied to cheer from the sidelines.

He's happy to just watch him.

He's mine – and it doesn't matter if he knows it or not.

…It's just that recently… it's starting to matter, little by the little.

•

They're best of friends again – as though all those years of being in Australia have been wiped clear.

He's touchy-feely as before – there's nothing innocent on his end since the start – but now the closeness grabs the attention of the two people he considered friends before the two of them met – just as the simple brush of fingers now quirk the eyebrows of his sister. He hasn't been innocent about his intentions since the beginning – so he knows how it appears to others who can easily misunderstand.

There's a part of him who wants this more than breathing – just like there's another part of him that's apprehensive about things returning to how they were in the past because if history simply repeats, wouldn't that mean that he will leave again?

It's a valid concern, especially since he's still hung-up over the last wishes of his dying father. There's no telling when would the wind shift differently and bring another change to him. There's no telling when he would leave him all alone again.

The voices in his head are noisier than ever.

…He'll just make sure that he can keep an eye on him at all times.

As though pacified by that idea, the voices simmer down slightly.

Conversationally, he brings up the topic over their home-cooked dinner – _mackerel_ as always; those two uninvited as per usual recently – just as he stares at the other's heavy-looking duffel bag readied for their weekend sleepover.

"You should transfer to Iwatobi High School."

The other rolls his eyes at his out-of-nowhere suggestion and that action shouldn't look adorable but it does.

"It's the middle of the year."

"I'll tutor you." Frankly he isn't that confident about his academics, but isn't that what his genius is for? He can review all of the books forwards and backwards so that he can be ready to tutor him. "It's no problem."

"…That's not the point."

"Then you should transfer to Iwatobi High School."

"Nobody in their right mind will transfer in the middle of the school-year just for kicks, you know?"

"If you do it on Monday, I'll give you a brand-new Iwatobi-chan strap?"

Instead of letting out a resigned sigh or a frustrated snarl, he rolls his eyes again. The movement is as beautiful as before. Shark-like teeth sparkles underneath the lights. "You're pretty insistent on this. What's up?"

"I just want to be with you."

"W-W-W-What are you saying? And with such a straight face too!"

He watches the other practically inhale the remains of the food on the table. He smiles slightly – despite the other's whining about eating nothing but mackerel whenever he comes over, he still finishes everything. The thought shouldn't warm his body as much, but it does.

"And I just want you to be with me."

"You bastard…!"

"…Please." He rarely utters that phrase and it feels unfamiliar against his tongue. But he has learned that it's a powerful word that can grant him what he wants, since he utilizes it so sparingly. "Please transfer to—"

"I'll think about it, okay?"

That isn't good enough.

What if he starts to realize that he still wants to stay far away? What if he begins to think about following his father's advice of foregoing everyone and chasing for his dream? What if he decides to go much further than Australia?

The voices in his head make pitiful sounds of helplessness.

He needs to keep him close.

"I want to be together with you." He means it in all senses of the word, but he doesn't need to know that. "Please—"

"I said I'll think about it!" Despite the gruff tone, the blush on the other's face is far from angry. There's nobody who should have the right to look as fetching while looking like an overripe tomato, but he does. The sight shouldn't make shivers run marathons up and down his spine, but it does. "Quit with the puppy eyes, damn it!"

He smiles wider and disregards the memory of hearing someone gossip about his smiles as disturbing. As long as he doesn't complain, it's still good.

He bumps shoulders with him as they wash the dishes and clean up their dinner like one well-oiled machine.

They're best friends again.

He's back in Japan again.

But it's still not good enough.

•

His back is warm.

His back is just a fingertip away.

Just like the brush-off about his suggestion to have him enroll in Iwatobi High School, it's still not good enough.

He used to be content with simply existing in the same world as him.

He can't understand himself sometimes.

They claim to understand him – there's so many people who claim to understand him – which is funny, because he can't even make sense of even just one of the voices that persistently bug him inside his head.

He always rolls his eyes at him whenever he says something that's unacceptable by the ordinary society, but there's no judgment there, no claims of encompassing comprehension, and that indifference to his strange quirks shouldn't fulfill him so much, but it does.

His back is warm against his hands.

His collarbone is bare against the moonlight, thanks to the too-loose shirt slipping to the left with just a little tug.

His collarbone is warm too, against his forehead.

His stomach is flat, with bumps of abdominal muscles from years of training and hard work, covered by the flimsy shirt that yields with just a little push.

His stomach is very warm too, against his fingertips.

It's still not good enough.

This is just closeness born from their weekend sleepover and the voices in his head.

What if he wakes up in the middle of the night and demands that they race with their dreams on the line? What if he wakes up tomorrow and remembers his father's dying will about making a name in the Olympics? What if he wakes up and breaks this connection between them?

He used to be easily satisfied but now he needs more.

"…Ngh? What are you doing, Haru?"

Sleepiness laces each of those groaned-out words, but there's no real anger about getting woken up by the suffocating closeness.

"Stay with me."

It's not a request.

"Forever."

"Huh? It's…" He feels the other's neck strain forward, probably peering at the bedside alarm clock. "…three-thirty in the morning. What's up _now_?"

"I want you to stay with me forever."

"…Isn't it a bit too early for wedding proposals?" The hands splayed on the rock-hard stomach aren't swatted away, though he doesn't make any move to bring them any closer. "Did you hit your head while sleeping?"

He bites down the annoyance that bubbles up from within him. It's too early but there's no telling when he will change his mind, so he needs to get a head start. He needs to be prepared this time.

"I want you to—"

"Let's talk about this tomorrow, Haru, okay?"

He feels the other go back to sleep and his heartbeat is quick enough to resemble a jackhammer pounding against tough concrete and his body is reacting in ways that he doesn't understand because shouldn't rejection cause grief, but this just warms his body even more and he almost just thoughtlessly humps his back in frustration.

While he doesn't remove the hands that have now wandered up to his chest nor does he dislodge the forehead has now buried itself on his nape nor does he edge farther away from his strained and hardened groin – neither does he move closer.

It's still not good enough.

•

Tomorrow arrives, but they don't talk about it.

It's not good enough.

The voices in his head are unbelievably quiet, inexplicably united in their single whisper of keeping the other close no matter what.

•

"Stay with me."

"We're discussing this _now_?"

He doesn't see the issue – he even waited patiently in his bedroom while the other took his time showering – but he doesn't see why he should wait until they both return from his sister's impromptu invitation to the mall. He isn't that worried about the others – his sister is understandably clingy, but tolerable, while the other two (three, now, he supposes) are more concerned with him instead of the other. But he doesn't want to leave this up to chance.

"Stay with me."

"What, you're not offering the Iwatobi-chan strap anymore?"

He doesn't think it will make a difference, at this point. "…If you want one, I could—"

"I'll pass on that, thanks."

"…Please stay with me."

His eyes are sparkling like polished rubies.

"…If I don't?" Breathy voices shouldn't sound so appealing, but it does. "What will you do, Haru?"

They're on the second floor and the bedroom window overlooks a great view of the town as it offers a nasty drop to anyone who might try to jump. Wordlessly, he locks the bedroom door with a decisive click and dismantles the doorknob as he practiced beforehand.

"Should I be worried?"

"No. I will never hurt you."

…Except that that's a lie, since he already hurt the other too many times in the past – since Australia happened.

"So playing at a locked room mystery is just another hobby of yours?"

"I need you to stay with me."

There's two boxes worth of canned food and instant noodles hidden in his closet; the small bathroom adjoined to his bedroom has a running, drinkable tap water. The first-aid kit and emergency kit are both in his bathroom too. They can survive while locked here for one whole month and he hopes along with the voices in his head that he can convince the other to stay forever more after that one month. Later, he'll think of an excuse to feed the others, but for now, he needs to focus.

"…You're well-prepared for this."

There's hardly a twinge of concern on the other's voice as he rummages through the things he stockpiled in the bedroom.

"Please, _Rin_."

He sees the other's bare shoulders stiffen at the mention of his name. He advances with the same caution as one would apply to a slumbering dragon, and he splays his hand against the other's stomach once more, his fingertips brushing against the edges of the towel wrapped securely around the other's waist. He's dizzy from the smell of his own shampoo and soap from the other's skin and it's much better than the memory of chlorine overwhelming his senses.

He hesitates for a moment before he buries his nose on those crimson strands, breathing in his own scent intermingled with his rainwater-scented shampoo. He feels himself growing hard just from this closeness, even with the lack of friction on his groin.

"If you just wanted to make me your sex slave, Haru, you should have just told me instead of abducting me, you know."

He shudders at the other's teasing words and he honestly wonders how the other can stay so calm under these circumstances. He repeats his previous words, almost like a mantra now, "I just need you to stay here with me."

He feels the other breathe deeply at that, before he finds the strong body in his arms twist and turn until they're now face-to-face.

" _Convince me_ , Haru."

There's a blaze of challenge there, something that he can't turn down now despite the strangeness of it.

He tugs on the wayward hair strands in order to bring Rin's lips closer to his own, but instead of kissing Rin fully on the lips, he first nibbles on the upper left corner – at the spot where there could have been a prominent dimple if Rin smiled more often recently – before trailing nips and butterfly kisses all over Rin's hard-angled face. He keeps both of his hands on Rin's head, keeping their position since there's still a chance that Rin will break free of this and escape from his grasp. He uses his hands to maneuver Rin's face as he prepares himself mentally to kiss the other – but Rin is faster than him even outside of the swimming pool, it seems, since he finds himself being shoved roughly against the wooden cabinet housing the boxes of food and his very limited clothes.

The etched designs on the wooden cabinet push sharply against his back – painful, even with the added layer of protection offered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. Losing Rin is a thousand times more excruciating than this so it's not like he's about to complain. He opens his mouth though to tell Rin that he'd like to get rid of his shirt, but what comes out is an embarrassingly loud moan as Rin plunges his tongue in and examines every nook and cranny of his own mouth, all the while shoving their hips forcefully together with the frenzy of hormone-addled beasts.

He's torn between wanting to return the aggressiveness that Rin is dishing out and wanting to simply enjoy the feeling of getting conquered by the person he has imprisoned here within the walls of his bedroom – and the indecision makes his lips quiver as he allows Rin to violate his mouth thoroughly while he scratches angry red lanes that should serve as warning signs to anyone else privileged to catch sight of the other's bare back.

Spending so much time underwater has trained his lungs, but even he finds himself breathless while kissing Rin. He's reluctant to pry their mouths apart though, because there's no telling what will happen next, what words will spill out next, once they disconnect from each other.

He should be focusing on convincing Rin – of what, he's not exactly sure – so he lets his hands alternate between placing tell-tale marks all over the pristine skin and worshipping each line and angle of the other's body. He lets the pads of his fingers drum and massage against Rin's right hipbone where he has a cloud-shaped birthmark – against Rin's left elbow where he has a faint line from a nasty gash five years ago when their attempt bicycle-race went south – against Rin's nape which he always covers with a raised collar or a draped towel since it's kind of ticklish and sensitive – against Rin's right shoulder which has more kinks compared to the left, since he uses that side to carry his heavier bags – against Rin's left nipple which he wanted to pierce before after seeing one interview of his back-then favorite band member.

It's like each part of Rin's body has a meaning and memory behind them that just fuels the longing and want inside of him and he grows impossibly harder with each thought, despite Rin's hands not even straying south. He feels welts rising up on his face and upper neck, because the pressure behind Rin's hold is almost enough to rip his head off. He wonders if Rin would like that, despite the mess it will undoubtedly cause. He wonders if he would like it if Rin does, but it doesn't really sink in fully, because thoughts of dying don't really come to teenagers like them, especially not during sex.

After what seemed like hours, they pull away from each other, disentangling their mouths from each other to pant wordlessly into the miniscule distance between their faces. Rin is red all over and it shouldn't look as pretty, but it does. He wonders if he looks even half as appealing as Rin right now, because he's sure that there's drool from the corner of his lip that he can't quite coordinate his hands to wipe away, just as he's certain that his hair is sticking up in weird directions from the hair-ruffling-slash-massage that Rin has so kindly given him.

"I'm not yet convinced, _Haru_."

He's still not sure what he should be convincing Rin about, but just hearing him moan his name like that is enough to weaken his knees. That's just fine though – because now he's comfortable on the wooden floor while his face is pressed against the fluffy towel that's admirably still wrapped around the other's slim waist. He considers mouthing the other's erection through the towel but it's too fluffy and he doesn't think he'll fancy the taste of cotton. He settles for breathing in Rin's scent that's unfairly addictive – there shouldn't be someone who smells so delicious even while covered with a light sheen of sweat, but Rin does, against all logic.

He thinks about their first formal meeting on a Monday – 11:30, nearing lunchtime – during the first summer vacation of his life that he has never forgotten about. He thinks about how perfect Rin looked despite his hair clumping together because of the pool water – thinks about it as he unravels the ingenious knot that Rin used to secure the towel. He thinks about how water clung to Rin's body then – thinks about it as he kisses the inside of Rin's left thigh. He thinks about how bright Rin's eyes appeared back then – thinks about it as he feels the tremor of Rin's body as he skips the hard length and goes straight for the warm, swollen sacs just underneath.

He remembers about hearing of Matsuoka Rin from five – or maybe six – different people before actually meeting the back-then new transfer student.

He remembers hearing one girl – who he thinks he recalls seeing near Rin's sister one or two times – squealing about a new pretty boy that will serve as eye candy for their class. He remembers it as he cups those balls with his right hand, as he starts leaving light kisses all over Rin's length.

He remembers hearing their homeroom teacher giving in to the curious questions of his classmates and saying that they are expecting the new transfer student to be placed on their class. He remembers it as he licks the tip that's now oozing pre-cum, salty and strange-tasting but also weirdly addictive, like all things Rin.

He remembers hearing his grandmother comment on a new tenant that moved in to the only posh condominium in the area. He remembers it as he relaxes his throat and tries his best not to gag with the heavy weight on his tongue.

He remembers hearing his father offhandedly mention meeting the new transfer kid's parents in the town hospital. He remembers it as he keeps his eyes trained on Rin's face, eagerly watching for any and all reactions to his ministrations.

He remembers hearing Nagisa chatter about the really rich family that talk to each other with a lot of foreign, alien-like language – that's most likely just English, but trust Nagisa to exaggerate. He remembers it as he listens to Rin curse in half-Japanese and half-English, as he hums the Iwatobi school theme as much as his throat would allow him to.

He remembers hearing Makoto telling him that the new transfer student sounds interesting, since he's so different from everybody in their town. He remembers it as he brings his right index finger to knead the thin strip of skin near Rin's asshole, as he coughs on the splatter of come that hits his throat without warning, as Rin shudders violently from above him.

"Y-Y-You, where did you learn how to do that?"

Rin is even redder than ever. While the full-body blush looks quite fetching, he feels trapped by the other's question that's half-awed and half-jealous. He's tempted to joke about it just being one of his talents, but he's not sure if it will be like stepping on a landmine that will push Rin to return to doggedly pursuing his Olympic dream away from him.

He ends up settling for an honest, "You're the only one, Rin," because that covers everything he has to say about their relationship.

It's strange to see Rin avert his eyes and his whole face, but that's what Rin does at this moment. It's adorable to the point that he wants to capture this moment forever by stopping time – no matter how impossible – because this is just his, and cannot be shared to anyone else. His desire to imprison them both in this small space returns even more powerfully and it leaves him with the surreal sense of drowning from his own emotions.

His erection is still straining against his pants but he's more enamored with watching Rin's blushing face rather than relieving the tension down there. He gets a reprieve though, because after a few moments, Rin turns back to him and says the words that bring his heart to a stop: "Fuck me, Haru."

Rin belongs to him, whether or not Rin is aware of it or not, whether or not Rin actually desires to be his or not.

Now that Rin is blatantly offering himself to him though – face still flushed, eyes still sparkling, body still tense – it's wretchedly difficult to make his mind work.

"…I can't."

"What the hell are you saying now?"

"…I don't want to hurt you. I told you, didn't I?"

Rin barks a laugh, equal parts inappropriately amused and unjustifiably angry. "Don't let that stop you, Haru."

"I don't want to hurt—"

" _Fine_ ," Rin bites out but he's curiously… not completely mad.

Rin drops down to his knees as well and jerks him off with quick strokes – movements lightning-fast as he unbuttons his pants and finds his straining cock. There's no mercy or worship to Rin's hands, but that's fine with him because he wants his side to be over with as soon as possible so he can focus on Rin once more. He comes within less than two minutes and he doesn't even make a face as Rin wipes his come off the towel that he lent him earlier.

He breathes a little easier once the tension leaves his body, but it's only for a moment, because he sees Rin – _naked_ – and clothed with red lashes all over his body – move towards the dismantled doorknob.

He's faster than he can ever remember and it's simply a few seconds until he's pinning Rin on the wall by the doorway, careful not to hold him down with bruising force, but also cautious enough not to let him escape. He will never hurt Rin but he will also keep him here no matter what. He thinks of Rin possibly planning on distracting him with such overwhelming passion, but he doesn't think someone as pure as Rin is capable of that – while Rin is very single-minded and persevering when it comes to achieving his goals, he's also dreadfully transparent.

Right now, he sees the intent to escape and he will see to it that it doesn't go through.

"I need you to stay with me here." He doesn't mean for it to happen, but his voice breaks in the middle, like he's twelve years old again and left behind by his most important person. " _Please_."

A phone rings from the porcelain bathroom counter – Rin's sister or Makoto, most likely – but it's unheeded by the few seconds of harsh breathing between them.

"You can try to keep me here," Rin says teasingly, as though he isn't being imprisoned against his will, "but I will escape, Haru. You know that, right?"

Deep down, he knows.

The voices in his head are also aware that Rin isn't the type of person anyone can shackle down or force to do anything against his will.

It's only a matter of time until he escapes from his grasp and leaves him behind once more.

"I will keep you here with me, no matter what."

Maybe if he says it enough, it will come true.

Rin's eyes sparkle in challenge but he doesn't see it, because Rin is facing away from him – strangely – once more.

"…I look forward to that."

•••  
 **end**

I purposely left some of the threads hanging – so it's more ambiguous if Rin actually returns Haru's feelings or not – amongst other things ;) Though in my set-up, I've dropped hints that Rin is just as obsessive (or probably even more) than Haru… he just shows it differently 8D

There's a sequel in the works – it will be divided into two parts; first half will be from a third person's POV (probably Makoto) and will show how Haru's actions look to outsiders and how Rin appears to be goading Haru's obsession. Second half will be from Rin's POV and will show the aftermath of this – the one month imprisonment and what he really feels for Haru.

A-A-Anyway! I hope you guys enjoyed this :) Feedback is always appreciated :)


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